


You Make Me Wanna

by Miss_L



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Basically, I don't know I just made that up, M/M, Peter's legs look good in short skirts, Shameless Smut, cross-dressing, steampunk drag night, that was a hint, yes I will go down with this kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1395049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_L/pseuds/Miss_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has to go undercover in a drag club (what? That's totally a thing he would have to do!) and guess who's a regular?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> http://draculaclothing.com/index.php/steampunk-apocalyptic-dress-p-1348.html
> 
> Prompt by her Terribleness Miss Lunatic

“Are you sure-“ Peter’s voice hitched as the lacing at his stomach was pulled tight. “Are you sure that this is necessary?”

Natasha smirked and nodded, too busy making sure the dress looked good to glance up at Parker’s worried face. After all, he was the lankiest of them all and… Well, his legs looked kinda good in this dress. She didn't take the time to think about this cross-dressing kink she hadn’t known she had as she adjusted the skirt. She would be alone later.

Black Widow walked around Peter, eyeing his get-up critically and adjusting a strap here and there. The wig followed, despite the spider’s wriggling and half-hearted protests, but when Natasha pulled out a make-up bag, Peter literally jumped up the wall. Through sheer force of her stare and spy-skills, she managed to get him down and convince the poor young man that yes, the make-up was necessary to go undercover on “Steampunk Drag Night”. The web-head sighed, but complied. Mostly because, by the end of her explanation, Nat had that look on her face she usually had when someone was about to die, and Peter wasn't okay with it being him. Not today. Aunt May’s birthday was tomorrow, and there was no way in hell he would make that a sad day. Which was also the reason why he was bait, with the rest of the team ready to take in their faceless nemesis and protect the web-head, if necessary. 

Peter didn't recognize himself in the mirror – good, then nobody else would, either – but overall, he didn't hate the result as much as he thought he would. The dress was nicely form-fitting, accentuating his subtle pectorals just so, and Natasha’s make-up skills were second to none. His face suddenly looked utterly feminine, while it was almost impossible to put one’s finger on _what_ she had smeared on his skin, exactly. Even the lipstick was subtle, highlighting the fullness of his lips without making him look like a cheap whore. He fidgeted a little with the skirt, however – it was short, and he was feeling utterly naked, especially since Nat had insisted he shaved his legs and armpits. She slapped his hand away from the smooth fabric with a huff.

“I would make a pretty lady,” Peter half-joked, still admiring his make-over results in the mirror.

Natasha huffed again and told him to get. There was a strange fire in her eyes as she watched him stalk away uncertainly on his heels. He learned soon enough – after all, he had the grace of a spider.

\---

The club was packed and there was a huge line at the front, but one look at his get-up, and the bouncer let Peter in without even asking his name. The boy was starting to get used to the looks and the odd whistle, reminding himself that the cat-calls were not for him, but for his costume. Except he felt far more exposed than he would in his Spider-Man suit. At least Natasha let him wear his good luck boxers. Peter click-clacked his way to the dressing rooms, where the other “girls” were getting ready for tonight’s performance. Most of them were dancers, others, like Peter, would bring drinks around. Nat had warned him that some patrons might get handsy, but the club had a strict policy, so he was allowed to punch them in the face. As long as they didn’t fly through the wall, it was fine.

As the evening proceeded, Peter relaxed into his new role, despite the jitters at coming face-to-face with their newest enemy. He joked about with the patrons whose drinks he carried, and everybody seemed to like his legs and quick wit. His comm was quiet for the moment – even Logan and Clint had tired of making funny comments about spiders in kinky dresses. After a quick pit-stop at the bathroom, Peter resumed his drinks round. A bulky man with a dark red hoodie pulled far over his face walked into the club and made his way over to the farthest corner of Peter’s sector. His appearance was striking, because most patrons were in party clothes. This man seemed to want to be invisible, which obviously only piqued Peter’s curiosity. Could this be him?

The web-head sauntered over to the newcomer and greeted him cheerily; he had counted on the surprise effect to make the man look up. Except the face he saw was painfully familiar.

“Wade!”

The word had left his lips before he could stop himself. The scarred face scrunched up in confusion, and maybe it was all the pheromones Peter had been surrounded with the whole evening, but he thought the sight adorable. Wilson obviously didn’t recognize his face, or his overall form (quite logically, too, since he’d never yet seen Spider-Man out of his suit), but it seemed that Peter’s voice had triggered a memory. Wade’s expression switched to recognition.

“Spid-” 

Peter clamped his hand over Wilson’s mouth before he could give him away completely and gave the onlookers a coy look. He bent towards the merc, ignoring the way the man’s baby blue eyes glued themselves to his cleavage, and hissed into his ear.

“Shut up. I'm undercover here, and if you give me away, I will dismember you and feed you to dogs.”

Wade only nodded meekly, probably not even listening to the actual words. His cheeks glowed red in the dim light and Peter felt moisture against his fingers. He pulled his hand away quickly and wiped it on his skirt, then straightened and offered the large man a customer smile.

“What would you like to drink, sir?”

His only answer was a muttered “Guh”.

“One beer it is, then,” Peter decided and walked back to the bar. His hips were most definitely not swaying. Nu-uh.

Wade had finally regained his power of speech when he came back with the bottle. The man had one scarred hand in the air, probably not sure where – if at all – to touch the web-head. Finally, he took Peter’s free hand in his and looked straight into the boy’s eyes.

“When do you get off work?”

The deep and husky tone of Wilson’s usually light and humorous voice caught Peter by surprise. The web-head tried for a smug, arrogant mien, but he probably looked more like a lost puppy right now. He freed his hand and grinned despite himself.

“Whenever I'm ready.”

He turned on his heels and walked towards another party-goer, silently enjoying having left the merc with his mouth – literally – hanging open. The rest of the evening unfolded quite uneventfully, if one was not to count the amount of snacks Wade consumed. That man could eat! Peter shuddered to think what his own stomach would think of such abuse. Then again, he didn't have a healing factor and the metabolism that went with it.

Captain America finally informed Peter that they were going to call it a night. Either the intel they had was faulty, or their target decided not to show after all, but there was no point in wasting more time on this stake-out. The young man was almost sorry to leave – while incredibly unsubtle, the looks Wade had been sending his way all evening were more than flattering. But his feet hurt like hell and he didn't even remember how many drinks he had brought around already. The club was getting emptier by the minute – Peter realized with a shock that it was past 2 am. He collected the last payments and settled at the bar (the huge tip was definitely going to keep him fed for the next few weeks). When he walked towards the back exit, however, he found that a large figure was following him, silently, like a shadow. Or a ninja. Peter grinned to himself and kept walking. Yep, definitely too many pheromones in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter turned around sharply as he reached the changing rooms. All the dancers had gone home and he was the last waiter around, so he pushed open the door and beckoned Wade to follow with his index finger. The moment he locked the door, the merc pinned him against the wall with his bulk, already panting and hard against Peter’s pelvis, but movements gentle, leaving ample room for the boy to change his mind and run away. As if! The web-head slung his arms around Wade’s mighty neck and pulled the merc into a heated kiss, rutting against the taller man enthusiastically. A coarse hand made its way under the skirt and up his hip hesitantly, but Peter grabbed the wandering limb and put it against his crotch with determination that scared even him for a moment. Still, he had gotten himself into this situation, and he was going to damn well enjoy it! If the breathy moans against his lips were anything to go by, he wasn't the only one having fun.

Wade’s other hand went to the ring on Peter’s sternum and he pulled the young man gently along towards a make-up chair. He almost missed it in the dark, but managed to sit down and pull Peter on top of him, dress hitching up delectably as the lithe boy straddled his muscled hips. The only dim moonlight came from a far window, but the men managed just fine by touch. Wade’s calloused hands were roaming Peter’s thighs restlessly while the boy made short work of the hoodie and T-shirt the merc was wearing. Wilson tensed when soft fingers came to rest on his unclothed shoulders, but soon enough he was leaning into the touch like the affection-starved puppy he was. 

The chair was creaking precariously and the sharp armrests chafed unpleasantly against the back of Peter’s thighs, but the only thing he cared about right now was the delicious friction of their clothed cocks. Wade’s jeans were incredibly in the way, so the next stop for Peter’s shaking hands was the sturdy leather belt and zipper. With joint effort, the men managed to get the offensive garment and undergarment out of the way. Wade’s cock felt calloused and uneven, making Peter worried he’d hurt the man, but his anxiety was soon dissolved as the other bucked hard into his touch. Firm strokes – just like he liked it himself – took Wade apart, turning him into a shivering and moaning mess in no time whatsoever. Peter felt a strong urge to make the merc come, but big hands stopped him. Wade took some time to control his breathing, then reached for his discarded trousers and pulled something out of a pocket. He put the sachet in Peter’s hand by touch.

“What’s this?”

The web-head realised this was the first time either of them spoke since they got here.

“Lube,” came the husky answer.

Peter was happy that his violent blush wasn't visible in the dark.

“I- I’ve never…” he stammered, not sure how to say that… Well.

Wade pecked his cheek lightly, reassuringly. “It’s fine,” he whispered. “We don’t have to. Or you could do me. Either way, it’s all fine.”

Peter felt himself relax – who knew that psychotic assassin could be this gentle! But the absurdity of the situation started to register like a cold weight in his stomach and he fidgeted uneasily. Wade must have sensed his discomfort, because he let go of Peter and leaned back in the chair, panting but otherwise quiet. Finally, he spoke again.

“If you've changed your mind, it’s okay, no harm do-”

“No,” Peter interrupted, feeling his determination return. He wanted this, now. He might not get another chance to be spontaneous and act on his – unknown before even to himself – urges. “I want you to- Uh. That.”

 _Nice going, Pete. Aren't you the smooth talker…_ The web-head could slap himself in the face if he wasn't worried he’d hit Wade instead. But the soft giggle that came from the other man sounded more like relief than mockery. The merc took the lube back gently and tore the package open. Somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind, Peter realised he should probably at least take his boxers off. However, the moment he made to move off Wade’s lap, the chair finally collapsed, sending them both flying to the ground into a heap of surprised gasps and giggles. The web-head rested his forehead against Wade’s scared cheek and sighed. The merc’s right hand was rubbing soothing circles on his back while he still held the open package in his other. Then he rolled them both over gently, making sure Peter wasn't lying on anything sharp before settling between the boy’s long legs. Parker breathed out through his nose, but felt his tension dissipate under the reassuring weight on top of him. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He liked the musky, slightly sweaty smell of Wade. In fact, he decided, he kinda liked all of Wade, diseased skin and bad attitude and all.


	3. Chapter 3

“Take it off,” Wade told him gently and sat back on his haunches.

“Ummm… Take what off?” Peter sat up, too, not sure what to make of the sudden change.

“Everything?” A request, not an order. Very unlike Deadpool, but then again, this was _Wade_ he was dealing with now.

“I thought you liked the dress?” Peter thought he had managed to conceal his embarrassment with coyness, but the other man wasn't fooled. The merc found his cheek by touch and stroked his jaw lightly with his thumb. There was a sad smile in his voice when he spoke again.

“Yes, but I like you more.”

That simple statement hurt Peter’s heart in the best of ways. Like a sugar dagger had just been plunged into his chest. He covered Wade’s hand with his own and rubbed his cheek against the uneven skin. He heard the other’s breath hitch and felt the digits flex uncertainly against his face – Peter realised that the merc was probably not used to affection. _I will have to change that._ Huh, where did that thought come from?

Slowly, he let go of Wade’s hand and shed his costume. Wig first, then the hellish shoes. He fiddled a little with the straps of the dress, but managed to snake his way out of it in the end. He sat up on his knees and put his arms around the taller man’s waist. Wade threaded his fingers through Peter’s short-cropped hair and they sat like this for a while, ignoring their erections until the web-head’s hands slid down to a very perky and muscled butt and he squeezed. The yelp that elicited from the merc was most definitely _not_ girlish – and he would probably kill anyone who contradicted that. Wade pushed the spider onto his back softly and tugged at the waistband of his boxers. Peter shut his eyes and breathed out through his nose quietly, then pulled the pants down and flung them somewhere blindly.

Wade lied down again on top of Peter and put his hand on the boy’s sternum. Small rubbing motions and gentle kisses along his sensitive neck both relaxed the web-head and drove him wild. Soon, he was clutching at Wade’s back, bucking up against that deliciously uneven skin and moaning like an absolute whore – he had no fucks left to give at this point. The merc kissed him hotly, but before the boy could reciprocate, his lips had moved on to a smooth chest, then further down to Peter’s subtle abs. The boy tensed when he felt slick, cool fingers against his entrance. The merc halted his hand, and blew a huge raspberry against Peter’s stomach. Resulting laughter dissipated the web-head’s tension, along with the rest of his doubts, and he bent his knees, allowing Wade access. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, anticipating pain. What followed, however, was pleasurable pressure – although not very comfortable, it was definitely bearable. Each time Peter felt like it was getting too much, Wade would distract him by giving attention to his stomach, nipples, collar bone with his oh-so-skilled mouth and tongue. Peter was certain he would have bitemarks and hickeys far into the next week, but all he wanted was more. More Wade. His eyes flew open with the realisation and he must have tensed up again, because the fingers deep inside him stopped moving and a questioning noise came from somewhere between his legs.

“I want you,” Peter stated.

He could hear the answering smirk.

“You already have me, baby boy,” Wade whispered back.

“No,” Peter continued stubbornly, moving against Wade’s digits. The moan that earned him was loud and satisfying. “I want you _now.”_

Then fingers were retracted gently, yet swiftly.

“Why didn't you say so?” Wade growled, suddenly near Peter’s ear.

Being filled up slowly was unlike anything the young man had ever felt – obviously. Still, the experience set all his heightened senses on edge: he could almost taste his own longing and the slide of skin on skin. Every nerve in his body felt on fire, and he never wanted that rapture to end. Peter pulled the merc closer – with his arms, his legs, his mind – until they were a tangle of heaving molecules, no longer certain where the one ended and the other began. It was over in a century-long flash, leaving the boy giddy and sated, stroking small circles on the diseased skin of Wade’s back as they both caught their breath.

\---

Coulson was about to send out a team to look for Peter, when Spider-Man climbed into the window of the gathering room. He was still wearing the dress, although the wig and heels were gone, and the streaks of make-up were most definitely not where they had been on his face before. Natasha walked over to him, but he assured her that he was fine. 

“Where have you been?” Cap wanted to know, but before Peter could give an answer, none other than Deadpool clambered through the window. 

He had a big grin plastered over his masked face, and his voice was a little too cheery when he told everyone how Spider-Man beat him in battle and made him surrender himself to the Avengers. Peter just smiled awkwardly and blushed, fidgeting with the hem of his dress. Natasha decided not to ask where his good-luck boxers had gone.


End file.
